Tapioca Pudding, Anyone?

Today, I attended my pre-surgical orientation at Hadassah Hospital. I had been under the impression that I would be in and out within two hours, and when I arrived, the nurse handed me my schedule for the day, which stated that I would be lucky if I left before 3:30 in the afternoon. Lunch - courtesy of the hospital - included.

8 am: Almost missed bus, after staying awake much of the night, listening to the rain.
8:45 am: Arrived Hadassah Hospital, told that the form I received yesterday from the HMO is incorrect and unusable.
9-9:45 am: Sat in Hadassah Admissions while they worked out the proper form and payment from the HMO. That is the wonderful element of this whole process, that the socialized medical system and my HMO in particular is picking up the costs for basically everything except sperm samples and hormones.

The first question they asked me in Admissions was "Next of Kin;" I did not understand initially what they needed from me, until I realized that I have lived in Israel alone for the last eleven years and more, that I have no direct family members living here, nor do I have a husband. It took me several minutes to think of a person (a distant cousin) whom I thought would want to know if I died on the table. That was perhaps the worst part of this whole day, realizing how alone I felt.

9:45 -11:45 am: Lots of waiting interspersed with brief interviews with the nurse, the doctor, and the lab tech. I managed to finish a great book for science geeks, "How the Mind Works" by Stephen Pinker, a wonderful combination of neurology, psychology and pop culture.
11:45 am-12:30 pm: Lunch, tapioca pudding and all. I resolved that the time that I needed to spend in the hospital next week would include sushi, snuck in with my overnight bag if I had to. I shared my meal with a lovely elderly couple, originally from Brooklyn; the wife was in hospital and her husband had come to visit her. Since they live near Hadassah as well, they said they would be thrilled to adopt me next week while I was in recovery.
12:30 pm: More sitting, and wishing I had not eaten the chicken.
1 pm: I am supposed to meet with the anesthesiologist, who is delayed by several hours. My doctor calls me into his office to explain the basic risks of being put under, I will sign the last of the consent forms the day of the surgery itself. I am released today earlier than expected, mostly because the Women's Floor, and the IVF Unit have a joint field trip day, what is called in Israel a "Yom Kef," and there is little likelihood that any more will get done.

What am I feeling? The IVF Unit at the same facility has lots of light, and an overall pleasant and welcoming atmosphere. Though (ironically) I work with un-well people as a profession, the Women's Floor felt like a hospital, with tired people hanging off their beds, others shuffling around in an inadequate hospital gown, the halls cramped and the bathrooms dirty.

I have until now, Thank G-d, lived a healthy life, and had no intention of being hospitalized until the birth of my child. I am uncomfortable with the idea of being partially incapacitated, and needing help for basic functions like standing up and using the bathroom, even if it is just for one day. And I also don't know what the surgeon will find as long as he is poking around, that unknown quantity scares me most of all.